With Me
by Dixie Dewdrop
Summary: Twenty six year old Tony still needs his dad.  This is part of my Fate scenario.
1. Confusion

Confusion

Tony was sprawled across his bed, arms crossed behind his head and staring blankly at the ceiling, when his dad appeared in the doorway. He looked up, surprised to see him. He hadn't heard him moving around downstairs, and was a bit shocked that his father realized he was home. Meeting his son's glance, Jethro Gibbs crooked his finger and motioned towards the downstairs, then ordered firmly, "With me-"

"Yes, sir..." he responded instantly, then sighed and sat up, shaking his head at his father's communication methods.

Those two words, "with me", had been utilized as a command from the time Tony was in toddlerhood. He got to his feet, stretched and smiled ruefully. His response had not changed in all of his twenty six years. He had been trained to follow automatically and immediately, and knew better than to loiter once his dad had beckoned him.

Jogging down the stairs, he tried to guess his father's purpose, but couldn't.

Gibbs was not in the kitchen or living room, so Tony started down the basement steps next, squinting to see through the shadows. The dim light showed his dad wasn't there, either. He climbed back up, not sure where else to look, then decided to try the laundry room, which led to the back door. Finding the laundry room empty, he peeped out the door's portal and saw his dad tending the grill in the dark of the evening, illuminated only by the summery moon.

He closed the door behind him and approached his father. "Dad?"

Gibbs nodded, but didn't answer and Tony went to stand beside him. Steaks were sizzling over the charcoal and his mouth started to water. He loved it when his dad barbecued.

"That smells good. Do you need my help? You want me to get the silverware or plates?"

Jethro shook his head in the negative, and Tony looked up quickly to see if all was well. His father glanced at him and smiled, and Tony threw his arm around his dad's waist and gave him a quick hug. Jethro responded by kissing the top of Tony's head.

"Go sit down, Son," he ordered, tussling Tony's hair.

Tony made his way to the glider swing and settled on it, stretching out his long legs and rocking softly. He surveyed the backyard, and the corners of his mouth twitched. He had so many memories locked into this piece of land. Hours had been spent here playing basketball, or climbing trees, or perfecting his soccer and football games, not to dismiss the pre school years he spent mastering first a tricycle, then a bike, out here. Closing his eyes he leaned his head back against the swing's cushions and lost himself in his thoughts, listening to the nighttime sounds around him.

Gibbs turned and regarded his child, and noting Tony's rocking movement his thoughts travelled to the rocker in Tony's room. It had been years since the boy had actually been rocked in that chair, by either his dad or his abuela, but nevertheless, Tony refused to have it taken out of the bedroom. He said it was his, and adamantly maintained it wasn't going to be moved anywhere. Gibbs had finally dropped the subject, realizing that it was a symbol of security and love for the boy.

Tony opened his eyes lazily and saw his dad regarding him. He smiled in reply, and Jethro turned his attention back to the grill. Tony tried to think- he was unsure of what his dad wanted. "With me" translated into only two or three explanations in the house of Gibbs. One "with me" had always indicated that Tony was in a world of trouble, and the other generally meant that his dad meant to teach him something or show him something.

Tony shook his head. Could his dad be mad about something he had done? He honestly couldn't think of anything he had done lately, or anything that would have reached his father's ears and kick started his dad into discipline mode.

His thoughts drifted back to a scene when he was probably seven or so. They were visiting the Mallards, and Tony was chasing Tyson, one of the corgis, around inside the house, against Victoria Mallard's specific instructions. Rounding a corner too fast, Tony slammed into a side table, upset a decorative bowl, and watched in horror as it careened to the floor. Jethro, Ducky, and Victoria all got there at the same time, fearing the worst when they heard the crash. Luckily, the bowl had survived the fall, but Gibbs looked down at his son, crooked his finger, and demanded, "With me." Tears started before his dad even got them to the destination- Tony's bedroom at the Mallard house. Other than to remind Tony that he had been told to stop running, and then a minute later to order Tony to move his hands from trying to protect his bottom, Jethro didn't say anymore. He sat down in one of the bedroom's chairs, pulled Tony firmly over his lap and spanked his uncovered (and unprotected) rear end.

That was the last time he ran indoors while visiting the Mallards. It was a painful lesson, but to be fair, even then he knew he deserved that dose of discipline.


	2. Parenting

Parenting

Tony snapped from his reverie long enough to make sure his dad was still at the grill. He had a healthy enough desire towards self preservation to make sure his rear end stayed out of his father's reach. Satisfied that his dad was still concerned with grilling their steaks, Tony started rocking rhythmically again, and lost himself in thought.

Another memory popped to the surface. Tony was visiting his father's agency, NCIS, something he had done hundreds of times. He knew his boundaries there, and was well versed in where he was and was not allowed to go. Unfortunately, at thirteen, he had decided to ignore those restrictions. Waiting until his dad was occupied with Ducky in autopsy, he set out to explore rooms that were designated off limits. It didn't take long before mysterious MTAC beckoned. Tony stood at the entrance door trying to think of a way to bypass the retinal scan so that he could enter, but couldn't create a plausible solution. Then it hit him- he needed to hang out at the MTAC exit door, instead of the entrance. Sure enough, within a couple of minutes a group of agents began to leave the room, and Tony planted himself against the doorway. The agents smiled and greeted him by name, not suspicious at all of his presence. As the door began to close and the last person turned to head down the hall, Tony slipped quietly into MTAC.

For a moment he just stood there and let his eyes adjust to the dark in the back of the viewing area, overwhelmed with the knowledge that he had managed to outwit the retinal scan. Then he made his way towards the bank of computers manned by two of the personnel, and sat down quietly in the third row, watching as the NCIS director spoke to a Colonel who was obviously somewhere in Afghanistan. Tony was intrigued, and followed the conversation for several minutes until he felt a presence behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he discovered his dad standing there. Jethro raised his eyebrows and commanded, "With me-". Tony's heart sank, but he slid from the seat and followed his dad out of MTAC, down the hall, and into a conference room. That time it was Jethro's belt which made contact with his son's bare rear end in five blistering, agonizing licks.

From then on he stayed close to his dad anytime he visited the workplace.

Tony squirmed in the glider and popped his eyes back open. Just the memory of that afternoon reminded him of the burning sting that resulted from the lesson, and the aftermath of wanting to stand for the rest of the day. His dad rarely spanked him, but when he did, he made sure that he left an impression!

While he was lost in his reverie his father had made a trip inside, and came back laden with paper plates and silverware. Tony started up guiltily, "Dad, I'm sorry, I should be helping you instead of just daydreaming."

Jethro waved him back down in the seat and answered, "I've got it under control," then smiled.

Tony replied in kind, and settled back again to his thoughts.

When he was eight he desperately wanted to play baseball. He had played T ball, but size wise, was still tiny for the real sport. Nevertheless, he wanted to try out, in a set of tests from the prospective coach that spanned two late spring afternoons. The first day Abuela sat patiently in the stands watching the proceedings. Tony was, by far, the smallest boy out there, and the coach didn't bother to hide his opinion that Tony was undersized for his league. Tony felt his displeasure. The more the boys were asked to do, the more frustrated Tony got, and the worse he performed. By the time the session was over, Tony could barely control his tears, and he and Maria drove home in relative silence. Tony excused himself to his room as soon as they entered, and Maria watched him go with sympathy.

When Jethro got home from work a couple of hours later Maria filled him in on the particulars of the day, Tony's performance, and the observation that the child was inconsolable.. Clenching his jaw, he asked softly, "Do you think you can hold dinner for an hour or so?" She nodded, and he made his way upstairs to his son's room.

Tony was sitting in the rocking chair, legs curled up on the seat and staring out the window. His father could see he'd been crying. Jethro tapped lightly at the open door, and when Tony looked up in surprise, motioned to him and ordered, "With me-"

Tony followed him mutely down the steps and to the back yard. He was still in his tryout clothes, but his father didn't stop to change his. Rounding up a glove, the bat, and a ball, he called for Maria to come out and join them. She did, willingly, and while she pitched, Jethro stood behind his son and held his hands on top of Tony's on the bat, coaching and teaching his son how to anticipate the ball, how to swing, and how to move. Tony caught on quickly, and Jethro stepped back and took over in the outfield, working with the boy on speed and making bases. Within an hour the trio was exhausted, but satisfied and happy. The next day, Tony out hit, out ran, and out shone every other boy on the field. He made that team.

Tony rocked a little harder and sat up to regard his dad. When he was little, he thought Jethro was the strongest man in the world. When he got older he realized that his dad's strength was in his character. He hoped now, at twenty six, to be even half the man his father was.


	3. Father Knows Best

Father Knows Best

Gibbs started removing the food from the heat of the grill and Tony settled into a few more seconds of musing. His mind went to his football tryouts in high school, his first. Jethro worked with him then, too, and spent all of his free time that fall building up his son's confidence in himself. Tony's game improved with each match, and he was voted the most valuable player all four years of football. It was the championship game of his junior year that stood out for him, though. This was not just any competition, it was the state competition, and only one high school would have bragging rights to that title. His team wanted it badly. Tony had been sick with bronchitis for a solid week and was on antibiotics, and his father told him he wouldn't allow him to play the championship game because of the illness. Tony was devastated, and had begged and cajoled in an attempt to get his father to change his mind. Jethro was firm, though, insistent that Tony's health was more important. He could be surprisingly mother hennish when his boy was sick.

It was Ducky who brought about the change of heart, and Tony would be forever grateful to him. After examining Tony at his follow up visit he told Jethro the boy was almost in the clear. Jethro nodded, and assured Ducky that Tony wouldn't be playing in the next football game, so would have plenty of rest. Ducky shook his head and looked at his friend with disappointment. "That's interesting, Jethro. All his life you've taught him to tend to his responsibilities. He is part of that football team, and he wants to contribute in that game. So now you contradict yourself and tell him he doesn't owe the team anything?"

Jethro mulled his friend's words the rest of that evening, took in Tony's disappointment and moping, then acknowledged that Dr. Mallard was indeed a wise man. When he gave Tony the news that he would allow him to play in the championship the boy was beside himself. The night of the game Abuela and Jethro were in the stands and watched Tony make the winning touchdown, propelling the team into securing the State Championship.

Making his way into the house after the celebrations were finished and the coach dismissed his players to head home, Tony ran down the basement steps. His father, leaning against the battered worktable, looked up and smiled, his eyes reflecting his pride. Tony threw himself at his dad and promptly burst into tears, sobbing from the raw emotion of the evening. Jethro wrapped his arms around him and kissed the top of his hair, murmuring how proud he was, and what a wonderful son he was. When Tony's emotions were finally under control, Jethro pushed him back a little bit, tapped him under the chin, motioned for his son to follow and ordered softly, "With me."

Tony followed and his dad led him to the kitchen, where he wet a cloth under cool water and gently washed his son's face. Tony stood still, and when his dad finished he looked up and met his gaze. Jethro's eyes reflected the satisfaction, and the love, and the protection he felt for his child.

"Hey," Jethro interrupted, and Tony sat up straight in the glider. His father held out a plate laden with food and Tony took it from him, then scooted over so that his father could sit beside him and eat his own supper. They sat in peaceful silence until Tony took the last bite of his food.

"Daddy?"

"Hmmmm..." Jethro replied, leaning down to set his plate down on the ground beside him. He turned to face his son.

Tony licked his lips. "Am I in trouble?"

Jethro looked confused. "Why would you be in trouble, Son?"

"I don't know, but when you told me to come- it just- for a minute there I thought you were about to spank me."

Jethro threw back his head and laughed, then shook his head, "Don't you think you're a little too old to get a spanking?"

Tony looked him up and down and relaxed, "No, Dad, with you, it wouldn't surprise me at all to be on the receiving end of one."

"Well, what have you done to deserve one?"

"Dad!" he replied incredulously. "If you don't know anything I've done to earn a punishment, do you think I'd be stupid enough to tell you, to just hand the ammunition to you?"

"Good point," Gibbs acknowledged, and settled back against the cushions. The pair began to rock slowly. Gibbs reached out an arm and threw it over Tony's shoulders, then tugged him towards him. Tony leaned into his dad and snuggled against him, and reached to pull Jethro's other arm around him as well.


	4. Explanation

Explanation

"So what do you need to tell me?" Gibbs prompted. He had been surprised when he got home from the agency a few hours ago and found Tony's car in the driveway. Tony usually told him when he was coming home, but he hadn't said anything about this visit. Once inside he found evidence that Tony was in house, but couldn't readily locate his son in the kitchen, or living room, or basement, much less outside playing ball. That meant he was in his bedroom, signalling that he was upset about something.

Tony turned his head so that he could look up at his father, then scooted and rearranged himself some more until he managed to rest his head against his dad's lap.

"I'm flying to Abuela Sunday. I want to spend a few days with her, and I certainly have plenty of vacation days to use."

Gibbs nodded but didn't speak. Tony loved his abuela, and he obviously needed her as much as he needed his father right now.

Tony continued, and sat up. "You know I've liked Peoria, and Baltimore, and that I like being in enforcement. I'm good at police work."

Jethro nodded and rocked them both, but didn't answer.

"Well, it's all been good, but Dad, I want something more. I want another focus, and I want to be closer to home."

Gibbs looked over sharply and studied his son's expression. Tony looked serious, and determined. His jaw was clenched.

"Daddy," he sucked in a breath and plunged, "I want to work as an NCIS agent. I want to do what you do. It's challenging, it's intellectual, and it's teamwork. That's what I want, and I want to be here, in Washington, also. I already talked to the Director, and have gotten the go ahead. But, I won't do any of this without your support, and your blessing, and your permission."

Jethro clarified, "You talked to the director today, Son? I was out on a case most of the day."

Tony nodded, and said, "I know, Dad, but I made an appointment a couple of weeks ago."

"Why didn't you say anything to me?"

"I wanted to tell you after it was over."

"Ok, I think I see. So what happened with the Director?"

"I was offered a position, Dad."

Tony moved quickly and faced his dad, noting the expression of concern on his father's face.

Jethro pulled him over in a hug and whispered, "You have always made me proud to have you for a son, always, Anthony."

Tony nodded against his dad and then pulled back.

"You still haven't given me your permission, Dad."

"Son, if this is what you want to do, you have my blessing. I will always back you- you know that. We don't even need to continue the conversation." He smiled and leaned down to pick up his plate. "Now, I think we need to clean up out here, then head indoors. Don't you want to call Abuela and tell her? She will be proud, as well. For that matter, your grandpa will be just as excited and supportive."

Jethro sat up straight and looked down at Tony. "You never, ever need to doubt that a decision you make will not be up to my standards, Son. I know you won't believe this, but you are a far better man than I, and your own standards are what you need to satisfy."

Tony nodded, taking in his dad's words, "Yes sir-"

The two drifted into silence, and rocked gently for another minute. Finally Jethro stood up and stretched.

"Now, I cooked, so you clean, Anthony. I am heading for the basement." Jethro swept out his arms to indicate the supper remains and Tony groaned out loud.

"Dad, really, you know I hate cleaning the grill. Couldn't we..."

Before he could finish, his father interrupted, "No, we couldn't. Clean up without whining, then join me inside, or come with me now, then get back out here and clean up with a stinging bottom. Which will it be?"

Tony grinned, "Not with you, Dad, not with you..."


End file.
